Strong Ones
by aimeedaralyon
Summary: ONE-SHOT. When Draco Malfoy's eyes move over the specific art piece, a picture, his heart stops. After all these years, he has found her. Songfic, don't like, don't read.


**Warning: This is a songfic: Strong Ones - Armin van Buuren. My advice is that you play the song when coming to that part to truly understand the story. If you don't like songfics, don't read.**

**Strong Ones**

No POV

"This is a fine piece."

Mr. Greene, the gallery owner, nearly had a heart attack. He looked straight at Mr. Malfoy in utter surprise, because in all the years he had worked with Mr. Malfoy he had never heard him say something so nice about a piece of art. The gallery owner was an old warhorse in the art world but he had never seemed to understand Mr. Malfoy's preference. Mr. Malfoy had bought paintings of castles, mythical creatures, old men with long grey hair and beards, women and views of a countryside, but never something so modern.

The picture they were standing in front of was a woman on the dancefloor in a club. The woman who was wearing a white t-shirt, a black pair of pants, black sneakers and a golden Rolex watch, had gold-blonde hair with big curls and seemed to be off in another world, but still completely happy and fulfilled. The space around her was lit, as if she was standing in the spotlight, making the red-lipped beauty stand out even more, while the rest of the crowd seemed to be made for the dark background.

The gallery owner had given it the title: Experiencing the music.

But Mr. Malfoy had immediately curled his lips in disagreement but had said nothing until his eyes had moved carefully over the picture. When Mr. Malfoy's eyes had rested on her hazel brown eyes, glowing and shining, like she was feeling genuinely and completely happy, he had spoken his praise.

"Mr. Greene, I _want_ this picture."

Just when the gallery owner wanted to tell Mr. Malfoy that that could be a problem, since the artist didn't want to sell any of the pieces just yet, he had swallowed his tongue, because Mr. Malfoy always got what he wanted.

The gallery owner never knew exactly what was wrong with Mr. Malfoy that made him so void of emotion and common decency, until Mr. Malfoy once brought a family friend by the name of Mr. Nott. Mr. Nott had apologized more than once for Mr. Malfoy's rude behaviour when Mr. Malfoy was out of hearing distance.

Mr. Nott had simply said that Mr. Malfoy was a war victim who lost his parents and friends in that same war. Mr. Greene had responded shocked and after the initial shock, with understanding. Mr. Greene never spoke a word of it, but since then, he had some sort of respect for his richest buyer, even if he behaved like a spoiled child.

"I'm afraid the artist doesn't want to sell anything just now, but since it is you, I can call the artist right now to see if she will reconsider?" Mr. Greene suggested a little nervous, the last thing he wanted was Mr. Malfoy to get angry or agitated.

"Make her," the authoritative voice sounded darkly.

"She is on her way, Mr. Malfoy, do you wish to stay for negotiation?" Mr. Greene said while drying his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Thank you, Mr. Greene. I will talk to the artist. Get me some coffee while I wait here," the tall platinum blonde man commanded, his eyes still on the girl's hazel brown eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

It took the artist about fifteen minutes to arrive at the art gallery. Mr. Greene nervously let the artist inside. Together they walked to Mr. Malfoy who was, to Mr. Greene's surprise still looking at the picture. It seemed he was inspecting her eyes from up close.

Mr. Greene coughed to make their presence known, afraid that he would startle Mr. Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, allow me to introduce the artist, Ms. Odell."

Mr. Malfoy finally let his eyes move away from the picture and turned around. Ms. Odell immediately found that the tall blonde man was handsome. Very handsome. She had been expecting a brooding fat guy with a gun, because Mr. Greene had sounded so afraid on the phone when he had begged her to come to the gallery, but this man seemed anything but threatening.

"Ms. Odell, let me be quick. I want to buy your picture of that woman," Mr. Malfoy pointed to the picture which he had been inspecting thoroughly, "And I want to know what kind of editing you did before you printed it, where you took that picture and where I can find her."

Ms. Odell raised her eyebrows high.

"Excuse me!?" Ms. Odell asked, deeply offended.

This caused Mr. Greene to jump forward and raise his hands a little in her direction.

"Ms. Odell, Mr. Malfoy doesn't know your work yet. This is the first thing he has seen of you. He doesn't know your signature," Mr. Greene murmured.

Now, Ms. Odell narrowed her eyes at the surprised looking Mr. Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am flattered that you want to buy my art, but let me make one thing clear. My art is never edited. Never."

This made Mr. Malfoy smile broader than Mr. Greene had ever seen.

"It won't happen again," Mr. Malfoy assured Ms. Odell.

Mr. Greene swallowed his tongue again, because he had never expected Mr. Malfoy to apologize. He never did.

"And if you don't understand the concept of art, then maybe you shouldn't buy it!" Ms. Odell hissed softly. Again, Mr. Malfoy kept smiling like he had won the lottery.

"Ms. Odell, it was simply a test to see if this piece was real or not. And because it is, I want to buy it after you answer my previous questions. What is your price?" Mr. Malfoy asked smoothly.

"It was taken at Club Diaga last Saturday in London. I know that her name is Zara, that is what I heard from the bartender but he doesn't know her last name. I also know that she comes there every Saturday, isn't interested in any kind of hook-up and that she doesn't want to be photographed. The last guy who took a picture of her broke his nose."

Mr. Malfoy raised his brows curiously and thought back of when that same girl, now apparently going by another name, smacked him across the face in third year.

"And yet you took a picture of her?"

"I didn't want to believe my friend when he told me of the girl who was a divine art piece, but when I got there two weeks ago, I saw her and couldn't not agree. Look at it, Mr. Malfoy," the brown-haired Ms. Odell said also looking at her masterpiece.

Mr. Malfoy did not.

"Ms. Odell, you just said that you made the picture last Saturday and not two weeks ago, when did you make the picture?" Mr. Malfoy asked clinically, not impressed by the artist's clarity, or lack thereof.

"Two weeks ago I went for the first time. You don't expect me to bring a two-thousand-pound camera to a nightclub without checking it out first, right? I went snooping first and when I'd seen her I investigated the lighting that was present in the bar, the people around her and the music that was being played. I'm not just going to make a picture and hope it'll look nice. Art is art. Art needs to be perfected before the first click of the camera. So I prepared and observed. The following Saturday, last Saturday, I brought my camera, the good lens, made sure the girl didn't see me and waited for the right people to stand behind her. I waited for the spotlight to appear and when it did, I took it."

"How many did you take?" Mr. Malfoy asked.

"Three."

"Are you sure?" pale silver eyes were looking straight in her black eyes and it made feel her unsafe since he seemed to get taller and taller. Her heart pounded in her chest when she truthfully replied, "Yes."

"I'll buy all originals plus your copies and I'll pay you fifty thousand pounds."

Ms. Odell nearly choked. Was he kidding?

This wasn't even a painting, it was a picture, and of course it was beautiful, and she was proud of it, but no one would ever pay that much money for three photographs, not for just a girl dancing in a club.

"So? Do we have a deal?" Mr. Malfoy asked impatiently.

"Yes."

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

Blaise

Something sharp poked my shoulder and I opened my eyes quickly to look straight into two huge yellow eyes.

"AAAH!" I yelled, jumping out of bed.

"Salazar! Plimpy! What are you doing here?" I exclaimed when Draco's house elf was staring straight at me from the top of my bed.

"Mr. Blaise shouldn't be scared of Plimpy," the house elf said, quickly looking a little scared.

I shook my head at the refuge house elf Draco rescued from a previous owner who had a vindictive stroke.

"Of course not, Plimpy. Wait, what time is it?" I asked, making sure my tone was kind.

"It is nearly midnights on Saturday, Mr. Blaise."

That was an odd time for Draco's house elf to show up. "Did Draco send you?"

"No, Master Draco did not send Plimpy, Mr. Blaise. Mr. Blaise must know that Plimpy is worried. Master Draco is being scary," the house elf nearly shuddered and even while I thought the house elf had no knowledge of boundaries, I trusted its sense in knowing when Draco was odd. Even still while it was midnight on a Saturday night.

"Okay, Plimpy. What is Draco doing that makes you scared?"

"Mr. Blaise should not tell Master Draco that Plimpy warned Mr. Blaise, but… Master Draco is getting dressed in his nicest robes, smiling and… singing."

I almost ran into the shower and ordered my own house elf to lay out some clothes and prepare a strong cup of coffee and a shot of firewhiskey. This was not good. Draco had finally lost it. He had gone bananas. This was the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco

"Master Draco, Mr. Blaise is here to see you," my house elf Plimpy said.

I sighed and stopped humming while my best friend entered my dressing room. I buttoned up my dress shirt of my muggle suit and looked in the mirror, making sure I was looking regularly muggle.

"Draco, I just wanted to invite you to my place but… where are you headed off to?"

"I have a previous engagement. I cannot take you with me, not even out of pity this time. I'll explain later," I said, soundlessly charming my hair so it would stay in the shape I wanted it to.

"Draco, what is going on with you? Where are you going?" Blaise asked, worry sounding through his voice now.

"I cannot tell you now, but I'll tell you later. Wait, let me show you some art I have bought three days ago!" I said enthusiastic and I took my jacket and tie from the chair.

"No, Draco. I don't want to see your bloody art. I want to know what is wrong with you!" Blaise almost whined and I didn't like that side of him.

I walked to my bedroom, where I had placed the painting on the feet end side of my bed on the wall. Blaise and Plimpy had followed me quickly. I had recognized her eyes immediately. She had changed her appearance completely, only leaving her eyes the same. And now I had found her and would never let her go.

"This is it," I said, looking at the gorgeous girl in the picture.

"Okay, so you have a hot chick who's clubbing at the feet end of your bed, congratulations, you are now a sexist old bachelor."

I sighed while putting on my tie, if I was going to a muggle club I needed the finest muggle outfit there was. Apparently Mr. Hugo Boss was famous for his muggle suits and I had ordered Plimpy to get me an appointment with one of his associates, making sure I would never look out of style at a muggle party, wedding or whatever the occasion was.

"Blaise, look harder."

"What? All I see is some hot girl in a club with bleached blonde hair a Rolex and…"

Now, I grinned. Blaise was really blind, but I didn't care.

"Now, if you will excuse me," I said and apparated away to Club Diaga.

Draco

I walked to the red carpet, passing the cue that was forming next to the club. Everyone in the cue was looking at me, judging, but I looked smug and didn't even glance their way. Confidently, I stepped onto the red carpet and walked to the entrance. I walked up to the bouncer who had raised his brows at me, but then he moved his eyes over my suit, he lowered his brows just a little. I took out a bill of 500 pounds and handed it to him.

"Mr?" the bouncer asked, after taking the bill.

"Mr. Brown. Mr. H. Brown," I said, nodding at the other bouncer who stood in the corner, almost invisible in the darkness.

"Mr. Brown, welcome to Club Diaga. Let me know if you need me to arrange something," the bouncer's deep voice said softly.

"Thank you, Mr.?" I asked, not looking directly at the bouncer, but around him.

"Michael, sir."

"Thank you, Michael."

The doors opened and I entered the club. I skipped the checkroom and started my search for the girl who now called herself Zara.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

"…-I know, there are over 4 guys here trying the exact same thing, mate. That girl Zara is only here to dance. It even seems like she likes no one. The last guy who hit on her was personally escorted out by the club owner with a threat to never come back," one male voice sounded warning.

Looking in the mirror I saw two men entering the men's room. The one who was just speaking was clearly holding up his friend, drunk, I guessed.

"Thahs- thaass jus rumoursss, I ain't seen any security watsshing tha' Zaraaa," another man slurred, obviously drunk.

When I left the men's room, I was surprised to hear her being famous in this club.

The music was blasting loud from the speakers, but I enjoyed it. I could imagine people forgetting everything here, just listening to the loud music, not having to think about anything else. But I only needed to be reminded of her eyes and I was back in focus to find her.

With a drink in my hand, scotch, I scanned the dancefloor. I had memorized the surroundings and when I recognized it, I searched the room quickly.

My eyes found one hand in the air, a hand with perfect red polished nails and a golden Rolex. I could only see her hand and I pushed people aside to move forward. I walked between a thick crowd of people and then…

There she was, dressed in a tight red dress, just as bright red as her nails and her lips. Her large blonde curls jumped up and down on her shoulders, by her dancing on the dancefloor. For one second I just looked at her. Being free, not being bothered by anyone, just another girl in the crowd who temporarily wanted to forget.

Suddenly I doubted my actions. My only wish was to confront her, talk to her, feel her, tell her everything I wanted to for years. I had endless reasons to confront her, get her attention. But now, I couldn't. I couldn't destroy her freedom, the freedom she needed so badly. The freedom she had because she ran. Because she escaped. Before she could see me, I hurried back to the bar emptyhanded. Apparently I'd dropped my glass of scotch, seeing her. I shook my head in shame of my thoughtlessness and waved over a bartender.

"I would like to rent that private area," I said, pointing at the place in the middle of the club, built above the dancefloor, private yet in the centre of the dancefloor. I would be able to see her perfectly.

"You need to rent in advance, Mister," the bartender said, walking away to help another costumer.

Now, I got angry. No one speaks to me like that.

"I don't think so." I dangled enough money in front of his nose to make him drop his jaw and he gestured me to follow him.

Once I got comfortable in one of the black leather sofas and I had alcohol enough to last me a whole night, I watched. Intrigued by her and disgusted by myself and my lack of courage to confront her.

Then, I recognized the drunk man from the bathroom and he moved towards her, with his filthy grabbing hands already out to touch her. She didn't see anything and before I could stop myself, I wandlessly casted a trip jinx out of sheer outrage of his attempt at defiling her. The friend of the drunk man quickly guided him to the exit. I followed them with my eyes until they were out of my sight.

I continued watching.

No knowing how much time had passed, I finally saw that I needed to hold on. To wait. To wait for her to come to me. I walked over to one of the security guards, who were eyeing everyone around her cautiously, as if they were used to people causing drama around her. I asked him to ask her to stop by my booth when she was able.

"What name should I give her, sir?" the guard asked.

"Mr. Brown. Mr. H. Brown."

Two hours later, after she headed to the bathroom, the guard talked to her. She had risen her eyebrows high in disdain and shook her head.

The guards gave me a shrug of the shoulder when he saw me looking. Apparently he did his best.

She hadn't even looked once at me. When it was 5 a.m. Club Diaga closed and all the people were asked to leave. As did Zara.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

Five weeks passed in exactly the same way. I wanted to give her space, her much needed freedom. She didn't need to be captured and I didn't want to. Of course I wanted her to be with me, but she needed something else. Understanding and freedom. The last five Saturday nights I had asked a guard to ask her to come up to my booth. She refused every single time, not looking in my direction once.

The sixth night I was done with the rejections. Angry, I marched outside my private section of the club and suddenly I got hit by the hypnotizing music. I slowly moved forward, dancing every step. Taking two small steps forward, one small step back. I didn't know the music, but I knew the feeling. I saw her experience it for the last Saturday nights in a row. The sixth night, I decided to experience what she was experiencing. So I danced. Let go. Felt freedom.

The seventh night, I was done. I got so frustrated I marched onto the dancefloor. I allowed myself to be patient for the past six weeks, but now I had enough. I moved towards her, moving on the rhythm of the hypnotizing beat, but then I heard volume being turned up. Looking at the clock, I knew it was time, it was seven minutes past twelve. Like the last six times the same song started. I saw her breathe frantically, anticipating what was about to come.

"For Zara, our finest guest," the DJ's voice sounded deep. Then the music started.

I went crazy. The music overtook my body. I couldn't hear anything else, think anything else. Finally opening my ears, just listening, I closed my eyes and felt the music, filling up my energy, feeling it in my body, in my arms, in my feet, in my heart, pumping through my veins.

The thought that filled my head when the song ended was simple.

_I am free and strong._

To my surprise I put my hands down and removed the sweat from my forehead. I couldn't even remember putting my hands up in the air, and my heart beating this fast, but I could only breathe heavily, getting thirsty from all that exercise.

I walked to the bar, waving my hand at Judy, whose shift it was this evening. She nodded and prepared me my favourite scotch.

When she walked over to me, she also had a glass of water in her hands.

"Drink the water first, otherwise you'll get dehydrated," she said winking before walking away.

After I had downed the water and a whole glass of scotch I heard another familiar song and moved back to the dancefloor. I finally understood.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

Four hours later, I had gathered up my courage and stepped into her field of view. Even with the music blasting loud, I could hear her gasp in shock.

"No…" she stammered, searching with her eyes for the nearest exit.

But instead of approaching her, I closed my eyes, turned away so that I wouldn't be looking straight at her and put my hands up in the air. Just listening to the music.

After half about twenty minutes, I dared to look at her spot, where she was dancing, just like normal, letting go. I smiled in myself and when time passed, and closing time neared, Zara raised her hand up to the DJ, nodding at him. The DJ in response smiled back warmly and nodded.

The current song then got a different beat mixed under it and I recognized it again.

Her song.

I looked in her direction and I could only see her. Everything around us faded and I had only eyes for her. Her eyes. Her eyes that reminded me of her true self. The one she was trying to forget, every Saturday night. The one true self that forgot her pain of the war, where she'd lost her parents, the war that caused her to lose her boyfriend. The war that had her feel like she was all alone and empty inside no matter how hard Potter tried to help her.

Her eyes met mine. Finally.

I felt a certain satisfaction, finally finding her and seeing her, for who she really is. This time, she didn't search for the nearest exit, she didn't look shocked. She just looked, insecure maybe, but I only felt victorious. I smiled at her, with tears glistening in my eyes and I took her hand.

As if it was meant to be, the DJ turned the music up further and then we were jumping. I closed my eyes, felt her hand in mine, and forgot everything.

The music faded to silence.

"We are closing. I want to thank you all for coming and get home safe! Don't forget your coats in the checkroom, have a nice night, people," the DJ's voice sounded hoarsely as if he'd been singing along too much.

I felt her hand still warm and tight in mine, neither of us even attempting to let go.

"I- I need to go to the bathroom. Will you wait for me by the door?" her voice sounded hoarse as well.

I nodded and softly pinched her hand before letting her go. When I arrived at the exit door Michael, the bouncer, nodded politely in my direction.

"Had a good night, Mr. Brown?" Michael asked.

"I did. How was your night, Michael?" I asked, looking anxiously at the door.

"My night was nice, a lot of fresh air. If you don't mind me asking sir, are you going home with someone?" Michael asked softly.

"Yes. I'm going home with my future wife. I finally found her."

Michael raised his thick black brows and smiled at me in astonishment while nodding at another club member leaving the club.

"You found your future wife in this club, Mr. Brown?" Michael asked, the unbelief clear in his voice.

Before I could respond, I heard her voice behind me.

"Mr. Brown?_ You_ have been asking me the past five weeks to go up to the private room in the club?" her hoarse voice didn't sound impressed.

I turned around and saw her standing in the doorway with her hands in her side, still looking as powerful as ever.

"I do. I figured you would find out what it stood for. Mr. H. Brown? Hazel brown? Your eye colour? The only thing you haven't changed about yourself?" I helped, while moving my eyes over her body automatically.

Her mouth fell open.

"You have known for seven weeks?" she looked angry and now yet somewhat impressed.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you come to me earlier?"

"I didn't want you to lose your moment of freedom because of me," I said softly, looking down at her, even while she was standing on a step higher than I was.

"I- I still don't understand," she said, shaking from the cold now.

"I promise to explain and behave if you'll join me for a cup of tea at my place."

"It better be blueberry."

"That's all I have," I confessed.

She narrowed her eyes and sent me a look of disbelief of how I could know that.

~~~~~~~~~~~DRAMIONE~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thanks," she said while I put her cup of tea in front of her.

"I don't understand any of your actions. You are kind to me, haven't called me a mudblood ever since you were in my presence and you smile constantly. And at the dancefloor you held my hand. I. Don't. Get. It," she gritted out.

"I love you," I blurted out.

I almost choked and felt so ashamed that my eyes went wide and I froze in my seat.

Her face radiated shock and hurt.

"Is this some joke to you? Bully the Mudblood?" she shrieked, jumping up and grabbing her wand from her bag.

"Hermione, I love you. I'm in love with you. I bullied you because I was a small spoiled brat who didn't know what else to do to get your attention. You defied everything my parents ever taught me. I have been in love with you since first year. But, I have improved. I have fought for everything you believed in. Lobbied for setting free of the house elves in pureblood circles, used my parent's money to help war victims, donated a fortune to all kinds of good causes. All the ones you mentioned on the 2nd May Memorial Ball. I have invested in muggle businesses and I have testified against anyone who deserved it. I have lied to protect you, more times than I can count. I have given you four years to grieve and mourn your boyfriend… Ronald Weasley. I have done everything in my power to make your life better, easier. I- I love you."

"No," she said pertinent. Still standing but having lowered her wand while I was talking.

"I do. And I know you read my apology letters and have forgiven me. Potter told me."

"Harry knows about you- you… well you know, you loving _me?_" she said me so soft I had barely heard her.

"I think he suspects."

"I still don't…" she started but stopped mid-sentence.

She sat back down slowly, looking like she believed me.

I knew that I was far from even dating her. But I was glad to sit with her, see her, listen to her voice. I was relieved to finally found her.

Suddenly, her jaws clenched and her eyebrows furrowed.

"But how did you find me? No one knew that it was me, I have never told anyone that I went there besides Harry and I cast an untraceable spell on myself."

Her voice hadn't sound judgemental but intrigued. While she poured herself another cup of her favourite tea flavour, I grinned slightly before responding.

"To be honest, I have Ms. Odell to thank for that. I saw you hanging in a gallery."

"I'm sorry, what?"

I smiled and extended my hand to hers.

"Let me show you."

**A story that isn't that great but still exists. It is not your typical story, but just one of the not so good fics out there. Hope you liked it anyway!**

**Aimee**


End file.
